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Perfect City
The Terror Begins...8-----)(!) Home wasn't always this way, at least according to the rose tinted recollections of men and women aged far past their useful years, and as each bleak, monotonous day eases ever so slowly into the next, as I lie awake at night terrified of what is to come, I at least try, no matter how nonsensical and impossible it sounds to reassure myself of this: It wasn't always this way. But just what was 'this way' anyhow. Sometimes they say that the city used to be a sprawling, grandiose metropolis. Other times they say that it was only a small community of around 1500 people. But whatever they claim, they all seam to agree on one thing, that upon the election of The Mayor, things began to change. Slowly at first, mostly subtle things that most people wouldn't pay attention to, even if you told them. Until it was too late. Names of buildings and parks would change seemingly without notice. This spread to companies and even roads. A map would be useless under such circumstances, and people who had lived there entire lives here even found trouble navigating. The day came when the city itself changed. Buildings were erected out of nowhere, people disappeared, and the city had a new name, some unpronounceable jumble of letters that sounded vaguely like the word quick, at least that's my guess. The buildings and longstanding establishments were forced to adopt the city's name, whether they wanted to or not. But the most terrible change, was when The Mayor decided to destroy the economy. One day, as always without notice, all of the city's currency changed. Instead of the dollar and coin system that was in use at the time, The Mayor decided that a new form was needed. These new forms were the C-Quarter and the W-Quarter. The people were unsure of their worth, The Mayor dismissed their woes, how much more simple could he have designed it, he told them. Ten C-Quarters equaled a single W-Quarter, easy as pie. It's all logical, it's all sane, so he claimed. Worse than that, they were devastated that their savings were now worthless. The Mayor couldn't have people using currency that he had no part in minting, that'd be treason. Breadlines sprouted up at practically every street corner, but there was never enough supply to meet the ever ballooning demand. But The Mayor didn't care. In fact, despite the endless amounts of letters and messages sent to The Mayor begging, pleading for things to return to the way they were, he would have every letter shredded by his secretary, and then the person who wrote the letter would be blacklisted. The Mayor could not accept any criticism, constructive or otherwise. His way was the only way. The Mayor was not so much a mayor as much as a dictator, though, as with anything else he would fusiously deny this. He has total control over all facets of our existance, and on a whim he could create change. Change of the law to allow certain crimes to go unpunished, and others, which at some point in history would be simly considered pedestrian, are punishable by death. And the changes the beloved Mayor makes, as ludicrous as they may seem, are always subject to change. For the worse, that is. Further, The Mayor was a reclusive type, a hermit of sorts, who locked himself away in his room for hours on end. No one, particularly those who are not in direct contact with The Mayor, knew exactly what it was that he was doing in there. Some theorize that he sits there and concocts his new plans for change in his city. Many firmly believe that he preforms depraved sex acts for his own amusement. I heard from my father that he spends his time making bizarre, crude artwork. Others say he has a scale model replica of the city, a which he uses as a platform to live out his fantasies, complete with figurines of himself and the people of his city. But what they do know is that The Mayor has his vile abominations that he sends out into the world, and whom he regards his favorites as his children. I myself caught a glimpse of some of them, but they dashed past at such an incredible speed that they appeared to be colorful streaks. The ones I saw were blue, pink, and green, if I recall correctly. But legend goes there are more. Many more. The most dreadful of the creatures is rumored to be a psychologically unstable yellow one, the favorite of The Mayor. He took more pride in his abominations than anything else in his life. But today, myself and almost the entire city is gathered at The Mayor's office. The Mayor promised to make a speech directly to his citizens, whether or not this speech would be the announcement of further change, we could only fear. I thought of bringing a Molotov cocktail or my father's rifle to the speech, but I couldn't do that. There is too much security. And if I was noticed, that would be my end. No doubt about. It wasn't always this way. One clean shot would end it, that's all. It'd be that easy. You'll be a hero, you'll save the city. Come on, it'd be that easy. But everybody has thoughts like that, don't they? And then, as the city clocks struck twelve, The Mayor steps out from his office and onto the balcony. Adjusting the microphone, The Mayor cleared his throat and said: "My name is Christian Weston Chandler, the original creator of Sonichu, the electric hedgehog Pokemon, and I am the true and honest mayor of CWCville." Category:Originally on Trollpasta Wiki Category:Pages with grammar that doesn't suck Category:Shok ending Category:Sonic Category:Paukymaun Category:Bad Fanfiction